


Please Leave a Message

by notsafeforowls



Category: Gridlocked (2015)
Genre: Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 16:53:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15465864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notsafeforowls/pseuds/notsafeforowls
Summary: It becomes a routine, trying to ignore Brody.





	Please Leave a Message

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cherryontop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryontop/gifts).



> For cherryontop, I really liked a lot of your prompts, and it took a while for me to pick one to go with, so I really enjoyed writing for you (even if my laptop killed about three versions of this fic.) I hope you like the fic!

It starts a week after David’s cleared to get back to his _real_ job. He wakes up in the middle of the night to his phone vibrating across the bedside cabinet, half-expecting the call to be about a serious incident, only to see Brody’s name flashing on the screen. Half awake, the lamp beside the bed the only other light source in the room, he glares at the screen until it dims again.

 

Five minutes later, he gives up on trying to get back to sleep and listens to the message.

 

“David, it’s Brody. I, uh, I can’t sleep? Well, I can sleep, but I wake up and keep thinking—you know, it doesn’t matter what I keep thinking about, because this is stupid.”

 

David lies there looking at his phone for a while afterwards, wondering why he ever thought that Brody would disappear from his life as suddenly as he appeared.

 

 

*

 

 

_“You could at least answer your phone, David.”_

 

 

*

 

 

Seventeen missed calls later, and seventeen missed messages later, David looks out the window of his apartment to see a car that’s far too expensive for this neighbourhood pulling up in front of his building. His heart sinks, because there’s only one person he knows who is stupid enough to drive that kind of thing at all, let alone around here. And he’s proven correct as soon as the door opens and Brody gets out, a six pack under one arm.

 

David stubbornly ignores Brody banging on the door. The problem isn’t that he doesn’t want to open the door, or answer the phone, it’s that he wants to a little too much. And that’s – that’s somewhere David doesn’t want to go. Even discounting the whole Hollywood idiot act that Brody used to have going on, this is too complicated. Brody’s too complicated. David’s too complicated. And David, he doesn’t fuck complicated.

 

After a while, the banging quietens down, and David dares to think that Brody’s finally left before he hears the glass bottles hitting the floor outside.

 

“Hey, do you ever do that thing where you put your fingers against your neck until you can find your pulse, and then just feel it for a while?”

 

Yes, but Brody doesn’t need to know that.

 

“I’ll be back next week,” Brody says, and David remembers that he’s filming somewhere outside the city right now.  

 

 

*

 

 

_“Hey, David, do you remember that director I told you about? He’s saying that I should go to a shrink and talk about what happened. How the fuck am I supposed to do that when we signed all that confidential shit?”_

 

 

*

 

 

Brody always shows up dressed like a movie star’s idea of a subtle disguise. Ball cap, sunglasses, and a hoodie. He doesn’t look innocuous, he looks like a fucking idiot. If anyone looks twice at him, they’re going to recognise him. But David doesn’t live in the kind of neighbourhood where people give anyone a decent look even once, let alone look at them twice. The last person who got more than one look was probably the guy who passed out in the elevator. And that had been because David had kicked him awake.

 

So it becomes a routine.

 

David ignores Brody’s calls for three weeks. Brody shows up at his apartment, in that shitty disguise that couldn’t fool a kid, and bangs on the door for five minutes. Then he fucking sits down and talks to the door like an idiot. He talks about really stupid things, too. Set stories, like David cares (he listens to them), how he’s a terrible shot (David isn’t surprised), and how people keep asking about the guy he based his performance on (Brody’s a better actor than David thought he was, and he’s a little proud that he inspired him, even if he’d rather die than admit it.)

 

It goes on for months, even after the interview. The timing of the visits change, depending on whether Brody’s in town or even out of the country (the timing of the phone calls become increasing erratic), but the basic pattern remains the same.

 

Brody calls; David ignores him. Brody shows up; David ignores him. He sits in his darkened apartment, watching the TV on mute, and waits until Brody gives up and goes away.

 

 

*

 

 

_“You’re a real asshole, you know that?”_

 

 

*

 

 

This time, David opens the door as soon as Brody knocks. Brody’s still got his hand in the air, probably prepared to keep going for his usual ten minutes. He looks a bit like a goldfish that someone pulled out of its bowl, gawping at David. And he’s wearing the same stupid outfit again, but with the sunglasses balanced on the cap.

 

“What the hell are you doing here, Brody?” _Why the fuck do you keep coming here? Why do you keep calling?_

 

Brody drops his hand to the six pack he’s holding awkwardly in front of him. “I just… I just wanted to see you again, you know? We nearly died. That’s fucked up.”

 

“Lots of shit’s fucked up,” David says mildly. And it’s true. He’s taken a bullet to the gut, has the scar to show for it, and most of his friends are dead. Maybe the fact that, despite him having been avoiding Brody for long enough, Brody’s still on the short list of living friends is a big sign of just how fucked up everything is.

 

“Can I come in?” He glances over his shoulder, as if he’s checking that none of David’s neighbours are trying to sneak up behind him to stab him. “Come on, I almost died _and_ you’ve been dodging my calls for ages. The least you owe me is a drink.”

 

The first thing that comes to David’s mind is _hell, no_ because he knows exactly what happens if he lets Brody in. He lets him into the apartment, he lets him into his damn head and, sooner or later, Brody’s going to end up in his bed. It’s a bad idea, and not just because Brody’s a fucking celebrity now.

 

But he steps back into the apartment, leaving Brody standing on the doorstep, the door wide open in front of him.

 

“Hurry up and close the door, I don’t want the neighbour’s cat trying to get in again.”

 

 

*

 

 

_“David, I’m on my way over now. And fuck you, the cap looks awesome.”_

 

 

*

 

The new cap, balanced on top of the lamp, is the first thing David sees when he wakes up. It's a huge improvement on the last one, a department one instead of whatever movie the old one was from; Brody had complained that it was from some big movie he'd had a small part in as a teenager, before he'd made it big, but David can't remember ever seeing anything that would justify that ugly thing. He's not sure where the rest of Brody's clothes ended up. Maybe they're on the couch. He hopes that the condom isn't still there and that it made it to the trash, not the notoriously awful plumbing system.

 

There's no ringing phone, unless he counts the alarm going off, half muffled by the pillow on top of it. Brody's still asleep, face buried in the pillow, his hair sticking up at strange enough angles that David considers jamming the cap on his head. The setting sun paints streaks of pink and orange across his bare skin. It's not the worst thing that David's ever woken up to.

 

"We should do something." Or he's not asleep. Brody turns his head until he's staring right at David. "Something other than fuck. A date. Hey, I could take you to one of those fancy places uptown. I can get reservations with a single call now, even if they're fully booked. Pretty cool, huh?" He grins at the look of disgust on David's face. " _Or_ you could take me to a cop bar."

 

"A cop bar," David echoes flatly. A fucking cop bar.

 

"You know, the place all the seasoned veterans meet up after their shifts are over to drown their sorrows." He sits up, letting the sheets slide down.

 

David watches them until they settle at his hips, pooling enticingly. It's a good look on Brody, to say the least. Makes him want to pin him to the bed and go for round two. But Brody, unfortunately, is right. They've done nothing outside David's apartment all day.

 

"Come on," David says, pushing the sheets aside and getting to his feet.

 

"Where are we going?"

 

"I'm taking you to a 'cop bar' but if you call it that again, I'll leave you in the middle of the road." And David already knows that Brody's going to steal one of his shirts, and he'll wear that stupid hat, no matter how much David takes the piss out of him.

 

But he's not going to be leaving messages in the middle of the night, or waking up the neighbours by pounding on the door.


End file.
